


How You're the Light Over Me

by scullymurphy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gift Art, Gift Fic, Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts Professors, Men Doing Emotional Labor, Post-Hogwarts, Professor Hermione Granger, Rolled Sleeves Agenda, Romantic Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullymurphy/pseuds/scullymurphy
Summary: Professor Hermione Granger is having a difficult time, as she does every year, with the anniversary of the battle of Hogwarts. So it's a good thing that her best friend Professor Neville Longbottom is there to comfort her with tea, a (broad) shoulder to cry on -- and all the love in his generous heart.Art: PacificRimbaudStory: ScullyMurphy
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 90
Kudos: 319
Collections: Fuck Your Gender Roles





	1. I'm Just a Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [granger_danger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/granger_danger/gifts).



> It's been a hard year, y'all. And the fandom community has been a huge part of what's gotten me through it. Granger_danger is a bright light of goodness and generosity in that community, and I'm really happy and proud to call her my friend, _and_ to give her this story, which I hope hits all the right spots for her. I'm also beyond honored that PacificRimbaud decided to make a (beautiful, meaningful, just _god..._ ) illustration of the story so that we could do something for her together. RSA forever!! ~SM
> 
> 2020 has swept through like a tsunami of the surreal, but it was riding this weird wave that I met granger_danger, and had the wild good fortune of becoming her friend. We've commiserated, collaborated, consistently forgotten what day it is, laughed to the point of tears and built a sturdy little library of inside jokes. I hope that by putting some of what she loves in Scully's words and my arts, we've told her something about how very Fond we are. Here's to your sexy brain and even sexier heart, GD. RSA!✊ ~PR

Art credit: [Pacific Rimbaud](https://pacific-rimbaud.tumblr.co)

**"** **_I'm just a dreamer, but I'm hanging on."_ **

**_-Kristian Matsson_ **

_**Sunday, April 25, 2007** _

Hermione raised her hand and knocked rapidly at the ornate wooden door. She tried to take deep breaths but found that she couldn't, so she focused on slowing her shallow ones, thinking about a soft sunny meadow, gentle rain, a day at the beach as a child. No one came to the door and she let her fist drop. _Where was he?_ It was a Sunday and she knew his schedule well. He should be in. Tears sprang unexpectedly to her eyes and she glanced up and down the cavernous hallway, worried that a student or another staff member might catch Professor Granger having a panic attack in front of Professor Longbottom's door.

She wiped her eyes angrily and turned away just as the heavy panel swung open with a jerk.

"Hermione!"

She turned back, relief flooding her. "Neville! I'm sorry were you in the middle of some—" She broke off as she took in his appearance, her eyes widening. For one thing, he was half-naked, wearing only some low-slung joggers and an unbuttoned shirt that she was sure he'd hurriedly thrown on. And he was _dripping_ with sweat, his face and bare chest. For a wild second the thought crossed her mind that he had somebody in there, that she'd interrupted him at… She felt her face go bright red.

"I'll just come back later," she said, her words running together. "If you're … er, busy."

"No, god! Come in if you can stand it," he said. "I was just doing some yoga."

Yoga. _Oh my god_. Hermione suddenly had a wild urge to giggle, no _laugh_ out loud.

"Yoga?"

"Yeah, Bikram style—hence the heat and the uh," he looked down with a grimace, "sweat. Sorry. I'll just go get a towel. Come in, please." He opened the door wider, his arm well over Hermione's head as she ducked under it.

"Bikram style? What is that?" she asked, as he disappeared through the doorway to his bathroom.

"Hot!" he called. "You turn up the temperature to an ungodly level. Helps you focus on the physical so that your mind can calm. You're also supposed to sweat out toxins." He reappeared and waved his wand. The temperature in the room, which had been stifling, dropped to a pleasant level. Neville himself also appeared less wet, although he was still only half-dressed. Hermione's eyes wandered to his bare chest under the unbuttoned shirt, muscled and with a line of dark hair traveling down his stomach to the waistband of the joggers. She jerked her gaze back up to his face, suddenly flustered at the idea of him bending and flexing and sweating. He was looking at her too, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"Did it work?" she blurted.

"Hmm?" he was still looking at her, but not really focused.

"Did it calm your mind? I could use some of that." She gave a desperate little laugh and felt her eyes wet again. _Damn_ it _._

His expression instantly changed to one of concern. "Are you OK?" he asked, stepping toward her.

"Yeah, I'm— " Hermione shook her head, then stopped herself and took a breath. " _No_. I'm actually not."

He tilted his head, the crease deepening between his dark eyes. "Here, sit down," he said, leading her to his low sofa. "I'll make us some tea."

"Thank you," she whispered as she sank into the soft cushions.

He moved to the kitchen nook and started filling a copper kettle from the tap. "Nine years and it still doesn't get any easier, huh?" he said over his shoulder.

"No, it doesn't," she said, tilting her head back and staring at the ceiling. "I yelled at two first years today, docked far too many points from a fourth-year for an extremely minor infraction, got in an argument with the headmistress over course curriculum and became very frustrated with my arithmancy study group for not grasping a concept that is extremely difficult to grasp. I'm losing the plot, Neville."

"Don't beat yourself up," he said. "The kids can be little shits. I'm sure they deserved it. McGonagall is a bear, and it's normal to be frustrated with even your most advanced students at times. You're only human."

"I just hate that it happens every year like clockwork. I hate that I can't control my emotional reaction, even after all this time."

"We've suffered a trauma, Hermione," he said gently. "The war and especially the battle created deep wounds—and they don't just go away, even with time and work." He walked over with two steaming mugs and set them on the table in front of the sofa. His handsome face lifted in a half-smile. "Why do you think I was sweating out half my body weight this afternoon?"

"Thanks," she said again, nodding at the tea and smiling back, ruefully. "Yoga just seems like a much more grounded way to deal with it than yelling at people."

He laughed and ran his hand through his dark, still-damp hair. "Eh, but the result may not be as satisfying."

She laughed out loud at that and was treated to his full smile, the one that never failed to trip her up with its reminder of how incredibly good-looking he'd become. He'd changed so much from the chubby, awkward boy of their youth, now inspiring comments and yearly crushes from his students, and even a cover of Witch Weekly (Headline: _We Dig his Dirt_ ). She smothered a small laugh at the memory in a sip of the tea, which was delicious.

"What's in this one?" she asked, holding up her cup.

"Chamomile from the western slope of the great glen, some dried elderflower and just a smidge of valerian. More of a calming draught than an actual tea," he said, taking a deep inhale of the steam coming off his mug.

"Thanks again," she said with a sigh, leaning over and touching her head briefly to his shoulder.

He touched hers back. "Of course." He straightened up and turned slightly toward her. "I hate to ask, but how are you fixed for next weekend. Are you ready?"

Hermione groaned. "As I'll ever be. I guess. Actually, the words I had with the headmistress were more about that than course curricula."

"Oh?"

"I just asked her why we have to do this every year. Why commemorate a terrible day? None of the victims' families have come since the first year. The students who lived through it have all gone now. It's just a show for dignitaries and the press. No wonder Harry and Ron flatly refuse to attend." She shook her head.

"Flatly refuse to attend and leave it all to you." Neville's eyes flashed and his voice was tight.

Hermione looked at him quickly. "And you."

"It's not as hard on me. I'm not part of the golden trio."

"You did just as much."

"All the same. We both know it's more of a burden for you." He put his hand over hers and she sighed, feeling some of the tension of the last few days leave her body. Neville always had that effect on her. He always _listened_ ...and understood.

"Well it's too late to do anything about this year, but I hope maybe I made an impression. Maybe next year we can skip the whole farce. Or let them do it in London at the Ministry, far away from me."

"Absolutely." He nodded with that steely look he sometimes got, and Hermione felt the comfort of having him on her side. She brightened a bit. The entire weight of the Hogwarts Board of Governors and the Ministry of Magic wouldn't stand a chance against a truly determined Hermione Granger, especially if she was backed by Neville Longbottom.

"Refill?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes, please." Hermione didn't want to leave the warmth and calm of his quarters just yet. Her eyes drifted over the space as he moved back to the kitchen and began bustling. It was so different from hers, even if the layouts were essentially the same. Hers was fine—nice, in fact—but it was cluttered, every surface covered in books, notes and other detritus of her constant research. Neville's rooms, on the other hand, were orderly, but not in a fussy way. Just comfortable and lived-in, each item in its place and selected carefully, from the clear glass jars that held his herb and dried plant harvests, to the polished wood of his handmade kitchen table, to the throw cushion on his worn leather chair embroidered with the words, "Honorary Hufflepuff." And of course huge, glossy, green plants absolutely everywhere.

"One of the students brought me some ginger biscuits. Would you like one?" he asked.

"Ooh yes, thanks." Hermione smiled to herself, still looking at the cushion. Students were always bringing him things, making him things. If Professor Malfoy ranked somewhere near the bottom and she somewhere near the middle in the unofficial 'most popular professor' polls that circulated each year, Neville was consistently at the top, absolutely beloved by students of all years and houses.

He walked back over, carefully floating a tray of the biscuits in front of him. It glided to the table and Hermione took one of the pillowy sweets. It was heavenly and she made an involuntary little moan as she tasted the rich, chewy sweetness, her gaze flying to Neville's face. He was watching her, eyes a little dark.

"So good," she said through her mouthful.

He swallowed. "Uh, yeah. Hufflepuffs." He shifted and looked down, clearing his throat. "God, I'm still unbuttoned. Sorry, Hermione," he said, swiftly doing up the placket of his shirt.

"It's fine," she said. "Not a bad view, in fact." She winked at him. "Yoga must be good for muscle tone."

"Oh uh, thanks?" Adorably, a stain appeared on his cheeks then spread over his entire face until he was bright red, finally reminding her of the Neville of their school days. She nudged him on the shoulder until he laughed and took a biscuit himself.

_**Saturday, May 1, 2007** _

"And so when we think back on that day and those we lost, let us not say, 'never forget,' but rather, 'always remember.'" Hermione nodded her head once and turned to move away from the podium, respectful applause swelling as she crossed the small stage to her seat. She caught Neville's eye on the way and he gave her a small nod.

Mercifully, hers was the last speech and after a few words from the headmistress, they were allowed to leave the stage. Hermione jumped down to the springy green grass of the east lawn and into the milling crowd of black-robed dignitaries. Now, just thirty minutes of interminable small talk, sixty minutes of a stilted formal lunch, maybe another ten minutes of goodbyes, and she'd be free. She'd almost made it. She rubbed her fingers against her temple, recognizing the tendrils of a headache unfurling there.

A hand touched her elbow and she looked up into Neville's concerned face. "You all right?" he asked, glancing at her and then the crowd with a frown.

"Been better," Hermione muttered, noticing Assistant Minister MacMillan bearing down on them, Rita Skeeter and a photographer in tow.

Neville looked at them and then back at Hermione, his grip tightening on her elbow as his brows knit tightly.

He looked back up. "I need Professor Granger for a moment, Ernie," he said, putting up an authoritative hand that stopped the mini-flotilla in its tracks. "Bit of an emergency." He raised his voice over Skeeter's sputtering about a photograph, then wheeled Hermione away, his hand moving from her elbow to the small of her back. She gave a surprised squeak but kept her mouth shut until they were out of earshot and walking swiftly down one of the castle's open-air corridors.

"What are we doing?" she hissed, her eyes darting up at Neville's set face.

"Getting you out of here," he replied out of the corner of his mouth, nodding officiously at a couple of undersecretaries as they passed.

She nodded too. "But there's still the lunch!" she whispered.

" _Fuck_. That. You've done more than your part. McGonagall and the rest of them can handle the lunch."

Hermione's breath caught. Neville almost never used that kind of language. "But where will we go? We can't just head to the dining hall, or Hogsmeade, or even our quarters. This place is swarming."

"We're going hill walking," he said decisively. "I need to harvest some Nooseweed pollen for Malfoy and it's in bloom right now in the lesser glen."

"Why can't he do it himself?" Hermione grumbled, thinking of their prickly colleague, who hadn't thawed noticeably in the five years they'd all worked together.

"Because he has no idea how to collect it." Neville's serious look faded into something lighter. "And I like to make the trip. It's beautiful and peaceful there. Just what we need."

Hermione nodded slowly. "That actually sounds lovely." She looked around, still seeing various visitors and officials wandering the grounds near them. "But how will we do it?" She glanced at Neville, who suddenly looked very alert.

"Like this," he said, moving the hand on her back fully around her waist and pulling her against him, while simultaneously pushing open a door that had appeared on the side of the corridor wall. They both slipped through the doorway and into a long shadowy hall as the door shut behind them. "Don't think anyone saw us," he breathed, smiling down at her.

"No, that was neatly done." She laughed a little, looking up at him a bit dazedly.

"We can take this corridor back to staff quarters," he said, not loosening his grip on her. "Why don't we go to our rooms and change. I'll also nip to the kitchens and grab us some lunch. Then we meet at the greenhouses in fifteen minutes and strike out from there. I think it will be fairly simple. Just a quick disillusionment charm when walking across the open field."

"Neville Longbottom," Hermione said, a smile playing at her lips. "Did you plan this ahead of time?"

"May have," he grinned. "I got the idea after our talk on Sunday."

Impulsively, Hermione went up on tip-toe and planted a lingering kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, friend," she said, touched.

"Of course," he said softly, his hand going up to the spot she'd kissed as he looked down at her through the dim. To her surprise, Hermione felt a little caught in his gaze, her pulse speeding up as she realised his other hand was still on her hip. But then she shook her head. It was _Neville,_ for god's sake.

"Right then," she said at a normal volume, which for some reason seemed obscenely loud. "Fifteen minutes at the greenhouses."

"Yeah," he said, starting and stepping back. "See you there."

🌱

"I'm so glad we didn't take the brooms," Hermione called, breathing a deep lungful of crisp highland air. "I needed this walk." The exercise was clearing her head and banishing the tense mood of the day amazingly well.

She looked around, taking in the surreal green of the surrounding hills and crags, touched here and there by bright yellow gorse and patches of nearly-purple heather. Rivulets and streams of water ran riot down their sides, glinting under the lowering grey sky. Early May in the Scottish highlands did not promise nice weather, and it looked very much like they would have some rain before the day was through.

"Grand, isn't it!?" shouted Neville over his shoulder, checking his long stride to make sure Hermione was keeping up.

"I don't get out here nearly enough," she said coming up behind him and breathing in again. "How much further?"

"The lesser glen is just over that rise and then we need to walk across it to the side where I believe the Nooseweed will be. You'll see it when we get there, it will look like someone dusted sugar over the grass."

"Sounds lovely." Hermione wrinkled her nose at him and smiled. He looked down at her, not moving. "Let's go, then," she said, pushing lightly on his back.

He laughed and strode off again. "All right, taskmaster!"

They walked the last flat bit of the trail before approaching the steeper part of the rise that would necessitate some scrambling. Hermione smiled to herself; it was almost like they were a couple of muggles out for a regular walk. She'd taken the chance to slip into her jeans and a warm Fair Isle jumper and Neville surprisingly had shown up in muggle gear too; a thick tartan flannel, his own jeans and sturdy leather boots. She sometimes forgot that he'd spent the first few years after the war studying the flora in muggle New Zealand, and had gotten quite comfortable with many aspects of non-magical culture.

They hit the steep bit of the trail and Hermione took her eyes off the tall figure in front of her to focus on making it up the hill, stretching her legs and digging her fingers into small handholds in the rock. Finally she reached the top, where Neville was already standing. He held out a hand and she grasped it, letting him haul her up the last bit.

"Isn't it brilliant?" he said, gesturing to the view that lay spread out before them; a perfect jewel-like valley with steep emerald rises on either side and a stream snaking wildly through the center.

"Oh Neville." Hermione kept his hand and squeezed, at a loss for words. Suddenly she spotted the tell-tale white dusting on one of the more gentle swells directly across the glen. "I see it!" she said, turning to him. "Over there!" She pointed, excited, but he wasn't looking where she was pointing, he was looking down at her, the funniest expression on his face. She realised they were still holding hands and dropped his. "See?" she said more softly, pointing again. He blinked at her and then finally looked.

"Well-spotted," he said slowly. "That's definitely it. Shall we go down?"

"Ok," she said, feeling a bit like she had just failed to catch something.

They scrambled down silently, again concentrating on the steep path. They then had to ford the stream, carefully picking their way across the drier spots. Finally they came to the slope with the huge white patch.

"Nooseweed. Here you are my lovely," Neville murmured as they approached.

"Such an ugly name for such a pretty little flower," Hermione said, kneeling down to touch a finger to one of the starlike blossoms dotting the grass. "The pollen is used to thicken potions annnd... help certain ingredients to blend better, correct?" she said, reaching into her store of potions knowledge.

"I believe so. Malfoy says he can't make a proper Draught of Peace without it. And it's called that because the roots are knotted. They're said to have a stranglehold on the ground beneath them. It's extremely difficult to harvest because if you break the knots rather than untying them, the blossoms instantly disintegrate."

"Fascinating," Hermione breathed, stroking the soft white petal and looking up at him. "And I get to watch you do it." She smiled, hoping to make up for any awkwardness she'd introduced earlier.

He smiled back and she felt like he understood and was telling her not to worry about it. "Yes. But first, lunch. I'm starved after that walk."

"Ooh, yes please," Hermione said, suddenly ravenous herself. They pulled a small feast from Neville's muggle knapsack: sandwiches, a wedge of good cheese, some early strawberries and a flask of cold mint tea. Hermione spread a wool blanket she'd enchanted to fit in her bag and they ate, admiring the beauty of the countryside and reliving their lucky escape from the commemoration ceremony. After a while, Hermione lay down from her sitting position with a groan.

"I'm stuffed," she said. "Shouldn't have had that last half-dozen strawberries."

"You just rest there, you gannet," Neville said, "while I get to work on these plants." He shot her a smile and began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"Ok," Hermione said dreamily, closing her eyes against a shaft of sunlight that had broken through the cloud cover. After a bit, she heard Neville start an incantation and curiosity got the better of her, so she rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin in her hands to watch him work.

The harvest technique seemed to consist of a complicated combination of spellwork and intricate untangling of the plants' roots. It was fascinating to watch. Neville's concentration was complete, his brow furrowed as he knelt and whispered the magical words. Hermione's eyes went to his hands, which were deftly turning up the long spindly roots, his fingers working at the knots with patience and skill. Once the root was straightened, he caught up a dull silver knife and cut it while saying the final word of the spell, and a long string of flowers came away perfectly intact. Hermione gasped quietly at the level of magic she was seeing, watching him perform the same task again and again until he had around a dozen long strands of perfect white flowers laying in the grass next to him.

Hermione realised she had become quite fixated on his hands as he worked, his fingers supple and sure, his movements practiced. To her startled surprise, she was also becoming aware of a distinctive heat slowly building the longer she watched. She bit her lip as her eyes traveled up from his hands to his bared forearms and broad shoulders and then to his lovely profile, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. He really was the most gorgeous man. She'd always laughed along with him at the crushes and the comments and the slightly beefcake magazine features, but there really was something to it, wasn't there?

He turned just then and saw her watching him, sending her a glint of a smile and a flick of his brows through the final words of the incantation. She felt that smile right in places she never would have expected, and the simmering heat bloomed into something more. Hermione blew out a breath and rolled onto her back, resisting the urge to fan herself.

"All done," he said, flopping down beside her. "That was intense."

 _Indeed_. "It looked it. Amazing spellwork," Hermione said, distracted and very aware of his body laid out next to her.

"Thanks," he said and sighed. "You know what else it looks like? Rain. We should probably head back."

Hermione opened her eyes, forcibly clearing away some very surprising images that had appeared there. Yes, her shaft of sunlight had most certainly gone and the clouds looked more threatening than ever. "You're right," she said, a bit flustered still.

"I'll just bag these," Neville said as he got up, producing a canvas sack and carefully placing the vines inside. "I'll remove the pollen when I'm back in the greenhouse and have the proper tools."

Hermione gathered their lunch things and soon they were moving back across the glen, up the scramble and down the other side. They walked mostly silently along the path, coming to a high bit that clung to the side of one of the craggier rises just as the first drops of rain began to fall.

"Ah, there's the rain," Neville said over his shoulder.

"At least it's light," Hermione called. She actually enjoyed a bit of drizzle during a brisk walk. Of course, almost immediately on the heels of that thought, a great grey cloud rolled over them and burst open. "OK, not light anymore!" Hermione yelled over the now pounding drops.

"Shit!" Neville yelled in response. "If the flowers get too wet, the pollen will be useless. We need to get under cover! Come on!" He gestured and started moving down the path at a good clip. Hermione kept up with him until they came around a bend in the path to an area she remembered from earlier for its rocky outcropping. "In here!" Neville said, turning quickly to the left. Hermione followed him through a break in the stone to a small recess—more of an indentation than a proper cave.

"Whew!" Hermione said, feeling water dripping down her face and hair. "Are the flowers OK?"

"Yeah," Neville peered into the canvas sack. "They're fine." He was wet too, his dark hair soaked and almost black. Hermione resisted the urge to reach up and push back the lock that had fallen across his forehead again. He looked down at her and she was suddenly aware of how close they were standing. They were practically toe to toe, the space was so small. She could see the darker brown ring around the deep amber of his iris and the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

"It's pretty bad out there," he said after a long pause, his gaze moving slowly past hers.

She twisted. "Yeah. Shit. We might be here for a while."

He made sort of a funny sound and she felt him shift in the space. "Do you want to try to turn so you can look out?" he said. "I'll just push up against the corner here."

"OK." Hermione twisted fully around, so her back was to his front, careful not to touch him as she did so. She held herself rigidly, trying not to lean into him as she looked out across the path to the driving rain, a few drops of which were actually hitting her face.

They stood that way for a while, just breathing, Hermione strangely aware of every point of her body. The wind shifted and blew more rain at her. She reached up and swiped the sleeve of her jumper across her face.

"Hermione?" his voice was hesitant, but also held a hint of a smile.

"Yeah?"

"Are you getting wet? Do you want to just, lean back against me so you're out of the rain?"

"Uh, yeah sure. OK." Of course she could lean against her old friend. It was weird that she wasn't already. Hermione took a small step back and forced her shoulders to relax against his chest. The rest of her was still incredibly tense, and her whole body felt like it was on a hair-trigger, but at least she wasn't getting rained on now.

She stood there silent and awkward, trying to ignore things like the warmth of his body against hers, the rise and fall of his chest and the soft puff of his breath against her hair.

He shifted and put the bag of flowers down, his arms awkwardly at his sides.

"Do you want to just, rest your arms around my middle?" Hermione finally said. "Probably a lot more comfortable."

"Yeah, OK," he said, his voice coming out a bit stilted. His arms went gingerly around her waist and his fingers linked over her stomach. Hermione could feel his tension too, in the rigidity of his posture and the tightness of his muscles.

Suddenly she was annoyed with the both of them. What the hell? This was _Neville_. She'd hugged him countless times, leaned and laid against him, shared a very small overnight train compartment on a trip through Italy they'd taken last year. Why were they being so strange now!? Hermione ignored the little voice in her head that was reminding her quite forcibly of her more recent reactions to him, and instead let out a loud snort, then hitched his arms against her and leaned back into him with the full length of her body.

He made a surprised sound and she half-turned and gave him a look. "Much more comfortable," she murmured. He laughed and then they both relaxed, Hermione turning again to watch the water pouring down in front of the aperture.

"Bloody Scottish weather," she said.

"Yeah, but it does keep it green," he said, tipping his head back against the damp stone. She heard him give a long exhale and she tightened her hands, which were resting lightly on his arms.

"Neville?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks for today. I really appreciate it."

His arms tightened just briefly around her. "Of course." His chin tipped down and rested on the top of her head. "Anytime."


	2. A Delicate Thing

**" _Love's such a delicate thing that we do. With nothing to prove."_**

**_-James Mercer_ **

_**Sunday, May 7, 2007** _

Hermione swept down the corridor from the Great Hall, her rapid stride making her robes billow out behind her. Mentally ticking items off her Sunday to-do list, she checked her forward movement as she reached the stairs to the staff quarters and yawned hugely.

She stopped, holding on to the banister as a wave of fatigue washed over her. It was so _annoying_ how she'd been unable to sleep the night before. She'd thought she'd fall into her bed exhausted after all the fresh air and miles walked, but instead she'd been restless, falling asleep late and waking early, her thoughts a mixture of dread for today and agitation over the events of the day before.

Agitation. Restlessness. A strange sort of energy humming through her veins.

She'd spent the extra hours awake trying not to think about anything, tossing and turning, reading and even trying to work on her newest book. But along with her familiar apprehension surrounding the anniversary of the battle, images had kept flitting through her mind; Neville's bent head as he worked on the plants yesterday, his smile (and his torso) as he answered the door last week, her hands resting on his forearms in the cave. What did it all mean? What was _happening_ to her? She'd finally flung her covers off at not quite 6 a.m. and gotten up, bleary-eyed, but seeing no other alternative than to face the day.

However, it had actually turned into a very productive Sunday and she was pleased with how she'd been able to fill the time so thoroughly. Between grading papers, tidying her rooms, the advanced Arithmancy tutoring session and the meeting of the Magical Feminists Club (so gratifying to see more _boys_ in the group this year!) she'd barely had time to think about the anniversary—or anything else.

She started climbing the steps and yawned again, this one almost cracking her jaw. It'd be early to bed tonight and hopefully she'd have no trouble getting her usual eight hours. As long as certain thoughts and images didn't intrude. She sighed. Maybe she needed a holiday. Maybe she should spend the whole summer somewhere else. Penelope was always after her to come to France—maybe this was the year she'd actually do it.

Some time away to clear her head, something—or someone—to revive her body… She was head down and deep in these thoughts as she rounded the corner to her wing and ran smack into a very solid object. She reeled backward, realising it was Neville just as he reached out to steady her, his hands gripping her upper arms.

"God, are you ok, Hermione!?" He peered down at her with concern. "I'm so sorry!"

"Fine, fine, yes of course. Don't apologize, please," she said, straightening herself and shaking her head. "I'm just stupidly tired and it's made me clumsy."

His eyes searched her face. "You do look tired," he said. "Did you not sleep last night?"

"No," she sighed, sagging a bit in his grip, which was still strong on her arms.

He made a sound of dismay and moved to her side, starting to walk with her toward her door. "I'm so sorry. I had a bad time last night myself. Always do the night before the day-of. I was stopping by to check in on you. Sorry I missed the MFC meeting too. There was an emergency with some of the young mandrakes that required my attention."

"It's fine. I'm just glad you're setting an example for the boys. We had three at the meeting today!" The idea of male feminists never failed to perk Hermione up and she managed a real smile at Neville as they reached her quarters.

"Excellent," he murmured. "Any plans for tonight?" he asked while she unlocked her door.

"God, no," she said. "I'm so knackered, it will be dinner in my rooms and then _very_ early to bed for me."

"All right," he said, looking down at her with a soft expression. "As long as you're OK."

"I am," she said, nodding and closing her eyes. "And you? Are you coping?"

"As well as I ever do," he said with a funny little twist of his mouth. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down the corridor. "Maybe some more Yoga tonight." He glanced back at her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Hermione felt the now-familiar confusing pulse thump in her chest. She gave him a nervous smile back, trying to banish images of muscle and skin and heat. "Ah. Good idea."

He kept looking at her until a disturbance at the end of the hall caught his attention. A door slammed and Hermione started as if out of a fugue.

"Well, hope you have a better night," he said, his words a little short. He flipped her a quick wave and strode off down the hall.

"You too!" she called. He turned just before he rounded the corner, gave her nod, and was gone.

🌱

After a light dinner of soup and crusty bread, a soothing tisane with just a drop of Dreamless Sleep and three chapters of a muggle text on 17th century agrarian England, Hermione was very much ready to sink into a deep slumber. Her last thought as she snuggled into her pillows was how lovely it would be to wake refreshed the next morning.

So she was incredibly dismayed to start awake in a cold sweat of panic when it was still very much the middle of the night.

Her eyes darted to her muggle clock as images from her nightmare flashed before her inner eye: terror, destruction, death. She registered that it hadn't gone midnight and jumped out of bed, running for the door without shoes or wand. Her feet carried her as if she were still dreaming until she was at his door, knocking quietly, yet urgently.

This time he was there instantly, throwing the panel open with a worried look. He was still dressed and the room was lit warm behind him. Music played softly from somewhere. He had a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

 _Neville rarely drank_ , the thought crossed her mind, a total non-sequitur.

"Hermione, are you all right?" He was instantly leaning down, looking into her face, tipping up her chin. She took a great breath in, but couldn't speak. "No you're not," he said, moving to her and bringing her into the flat, then closing the door behind them.

He walked her to the couch and settled her gently, his eyes intent on her face. "What happened? You're not hurt?"

"N-no, I just had a dream." She started crying again. "Oh, Neville. The fear and the smoke and the killing. I just—" She broke off on a sob and he was instantly there, pulling her to him and wrapping her in his arms.

"I know, I know, I know," he said softly. "I know exactly what you mean. And it's OK. It's OK."

Hermione let herself go like she rarely did, crying out all the tension of the last few days and some of the pain that was always present in her heart. All the while Neville just held her, and let her.

Finally she sniffed and wiped her eyes. He straightened up and handed her a tissue box. She thanked him gratefully, noticing that his eyes were wet too.

"Would you like some water? Or tea?" he said as he pulled gently back.

"What are you drinking?" she sniffed, nodding at his glass.

"Oh, it's whisky. Muggle single malt. Seemed like a good night for it." He shrugged and his eyes cut to the side. "Would you like some?"

"Yes, that sounds nice." Hermione attempted a smile. He got up and moved toward the kitchen. "I'm sorry to come so late," she said, looking around. "I'm glad you were still up."

"Even if I weren't," he said, turning and fixing her with a very serious look. " _Any_ time. You know that."

She nodded. "I do." The music had stopped so she wandered over to look at the source. It was an old muggle record player. "I didn't know you had one of these," she said, giving him a bemused glance.

"Yeah I picked it up in Wellington when I was there. It was in a closet in my bedroom for ages and I just decided tonight to take it out and get it running. He walked over with a glass and handed it to her.

Hermione took a sip and the liquid slid down her throat, leaving a trail of soothing warmth—more magical than any wizarding drink. "Thanks, this is perfect," she said. He nodded and turned over the record.

They moved back to the couch and Hermione sat, tucking her legs under her. Neville sat too, in the other corner of the couch, long legs stretched out, his features shadowed by the low light of the lamps. He waved his wand lazily and a fire leaped to life in his grate. Hermione gave a contented sigh and sipped her whisky.

"Tell me about Wellington," she said. "I've only ever been to Auckland, but I've heard the South Island is more beautiful."

"Well, they're both incredible. Sort of like here in some ways, but with tropical bits. And the plants, oh the _plants_ , Hermione." He sighed and put a hand over his heart. Hermione giggled, amazed that she could feel a little thread of joy after the last few days. Of course it would be Neville who made her feel it.

The thought stopped her in the act of raising her glass to her lips and she looked at him, _really_ looked at him, as her breath caught in her throat. She blinked and took a deep breath in.

"You'd love it, though," he was saying, oblivious to her inner turmoil. "You have to go back. I mean, Auckland is a nice city, but you've got to get to the rest of the country. It would be like coming here and only visiting Glasgow."

"I'd love to," Hermione murmured. "Someday." She looked down and realised her glass was empty. She looked up and he was watching her.

"Would you like another?"

"No, but—" She said it before she could think about it too much. "May I sleep here with you tonight?"

His eyes widened a bit, but then he blinked and swallowed, nodded quickly. "Of course. Of course you can, Hermione." He straightened and started to get up. "Let me just— I'll change the sheets on the bed and I'll grab a blanket and kip on the couch."

"No! No, I meant. Uh. _With_ you. If that's OK. It would be a comfort." Hermione's eyes darted anywhere but his. She couldn't believe she was asking this, but she also couldn't quite envision going back home to her dark, empty rooms, alone.

"Oh." There was a long pause then, "Yeah, of _course_." Hermione chanced a glance at him and saw him shake his head slightly before he held his hand out. "Come on, it's late."

She took it and stood up. "Thank you, Neville. Really."

"Of course," he said again. "Just give me a moment." He waved his hand toward the loo then ducked into the bedroom and out again. She heard sounds of splashing and tooth brushing form the other side of the door.

Hermione looked down. At least she was wearing sensible pajamas—just cotton bottoms and a soft t-shirt. Nothing overtly sexy, thank god. Not that she really owned anything like that. She drifted into the bedroom and sat gingerly on the side of the bed, asking herself again what she was doing. She looked around rather than answer the question. His room, which she'd done no more than duck her head into a few times before, was like the rest of the flat; warm and cozy, with a comfortable orderliness and a couple of really spectacular potted plants. She smiled affectionately at them and shook her head.

Before she could get back to her internal question, Neville was there again—in his joggers and a white t-shirt. She cast her face down to hide the warmth she could suddenly feel there. "Ah, you're already on the correct side," he said lightly as he made his way to the other side of the bed, threw the covers back and flopped down unceremoniously. "This one's mine."

Hermione looked down at him and bit her lip. She opened her mouth to say that she was being silly, that she'd go, but just then he opened his arms and raised his brows with a gentle smile. "Aren't you coming?"

She gave a little laugh. "OK." She climbed in and lay next to him, not sure how close he actually wanted her to be.

"Let's not be silly like yesterday," he said, a gentle tease in his voice as his arms went round her and pulled her against him, back to front. "There," he said. "That's it."

Hermione blew out her breath with another half-laugh. "Yes," she said, "that's it." And the miraculous thing was that it did seem to be it, whatever that was. Because almost immediately her eyes got heavy, she relaxed and her breathing slowed. Something about the rhythmic movement of his chest and his scent and his soft breath lulled her, _soothed_ her, until she was just on the edge of sleep. "Neville," she murmured just before she dropped off. "Thank you again."

"Shh," he whispered. "Let yourself rest."

_**Monday, May 3, 2007 (very early morning)** _

Hermione woke to the sound of steady rain and the dull almost-grey of early dawn. It took her a moment to realise where she was and with whom. Neville's bed, Neville's warm body that she was pressed against—her front to his back now, his broad shoulders obscuring her view. She shifted slightly and he stirred, and she could tell from his breathing that he was awake.

Suddenly he turned and put her gently away from him, his long fingers brushing the bare skin just below the hem of her shirt. Hermione hid her indrawn breath and pretended she was still asleep, not exactly sure what to do next.

She watched him as he rolled onto his back with a sigh, lacing his fingers behind his head and casting his eyes up to the ceiling. She kept her eyes slitted and hidden behind the curtain of her thick hair, noticing that there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and that his hairline was damp.

She felt the heat spark again.

He shifted and looked over at her and Hermione squinched her eyes shut reflexively. She heard a rustling and then after a moment could tell that he had lain back down. When he'd been still for long enough, she looked cautiously, then had to suppress another sharp breath. _He'd taken off his bloody shirt_. His eyes were closed now, so she raised her head slightly and looked. The glimpses she'd seen the other day were nothing compared to this. The long torso, the sculpted muscle, the dusting of slightly curling brown hair over all of it, coalescing to that dark trail that led her eye down, down, down to—Hermione's eyes flew wide as she realised she was looking at the arc of a large, absolutely magnificent cock, fully erect and outlined by the thin fabric of the joggers in a way that left very little to the imagination.

_Oh my GOD, Neville._

Instantly the spark ignited to a full-body flame and Hermione felt her thighs clench. Her eyes traveled over and over again down the trail to the gorgeous, curving length. She licked her lips, fascinated. She wanted to touch him, wanted to reach into his trousers and wrap her fingers around him, palm him and stroke from base to tip. She wanted to get her lips around him too, suck and lick and _taste_ him.

She bit her lip, a totally involuntary sound of utter surprise—and lust—slipping out of her mouth. And the moment she did it, Neville started, flipping the cover over his lower half and grabbing something from the nightstand. Hermione didn't know exactly what to do, so she pretended to wake up, stretching and yawning ostentatiously.

She looked over. He was holding a massive tome on aquatic plants. Upside down.

He looked at her. "Did you sleep?" he asked, his voice a bit strained.

"Yes," she said, still distracted by what her body wanted to do. "I haven't slept that well in weeks." She tried, but she couldn't keep her gaze off his bare chest, and the trail of hair—especially now that she knew what it led to.

Neville noticed her staring. "Sorry," he said with a frown. "I got hot. I'll just get my shirt—" He made a move to get up.

"No, no. It's … _fine_ ," Hermione breathed, her hand going out almost involuntarily, her fingers alighting on the skin over his left pectoral. She stopped and breathed in and out, feeling heat radiating, electricity sparking, from the one small place she was touching. Her fingers spasmed and she stroked him once just lightly.

His breath caught and his hand went up over her hand, pinning it to his chest, his fingers curling around her fingers. Dark eyes flashed to hers and she saw suddenly. Saw it all. All the glances and touches. The way his eyes lingered on her. The way he took care of her and listened to her and rescued her. And she knew he saw it in her too. The way she came to him first. Always. The way she looked at him, touched him. Relied on him. Wanted him. _Loved him_.

"Neville."

"Hermione," he said, low and intense. "I—"

"May I?" she asked, as if in a dream.

He drew a deep breath in, paused and then nodded once, his eyes now molten on hers as he lifted his hand and laid it back down at his side. She opened her palm and swept it over his chest, slowly, feeling the topography of him, enjoying every dip and ridge. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. She shifted, getting up on her knees, feeling the cotton of her t-shirt drag against her peaked nipples.

She trailed one finger over his wrist and up the veins of his arm, slowly and reverently. He kept his eyes closed, but his breaths came faster. She jumped her finger from his arm to his clavicle and then to his stomach, running it down the center of that trail of dark hair. _He was so fucking beautiful_. Her finger drew low and his eyes flew open. He focused on her face, eyes sliding to her mouth, and then his gaze went down to where her nipples were clearly visible under her shirt. His lips parted and he swallowed, looking back up at her, a question.

"Neville I. I want to—" Hermione squirmed. She wanted him so badly that it was making her inarticulate. "I mean, do you want to—" _Do you want to fuck me? Please?_ Oh god, she was going to have to say it.

"Hermione," he interrupted her. "I've wanted this more than anything since somewhere around sixth year."

_Oh._

_Fuck._

_Of course. So many things made sense now._

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed the blanket aside with a sweep of her hand, revealing the magnificent cock which looked, if possible, even larger than before. "Oh," she breathed, sliding her hand lower, her fingers trembling slightly. Suddenly she stopped, wanting to make sure. "Is this really ok?" She darted searching eyes to his, which closed as he breathed out a laugh.

" _Yes."_

She puffed out a small laugh too and then reached under the waistband of his trousers, sliding her fingers down and around his length, palming his velvety softness. She stroked once, twice, twisting her hand a bit and slipping some of the liquid leaking from his tip over his shaft.

He groaned, pushing his head back into the pillow, neck cording. " _Fuck_ , _Hermione._ "

Neville's obvious pleasure, the word 'fuck', on his lips, the feel of him in her hand sent her to a new level of want—no, _need_. She was so wet, she could feel it on the upper bits of her inner thighs. On impulse, she let him go and straddled him, slinging one leg over his waist and leaning over his chest, settling her core against his cock and beginning to move slowly against him.

His hands went to her hips and held her there as he groaned again. "God, that feels good." His eyes fluttered open and he glanced up, giving her an almost feral look from under his lashes, before suddenly sitting up so that he was propped against the headboard and pillows. He held her in place so the movement shifted them closer and their faces were only inches away.

His hands went up from her hips to sweep over her back, catching and pushing up her t-shirt on the way. Hermione gasped when he wrapped his thumbs around to her front, running them up her sides then over her nipples.

"Take off your shirt," he said, his voice ragged.

Hermione complied, stretching to slide the soft cotton up and over her head. She looked down at him darkly, jutting her breasts out, enjoying the whisper of cool morning air over them. She licked her lips and then bit down on the lower one.

Suddenly Neville made an inarticulate sound and surged forward, one arm going around her waist and the other up her back and into her hair as he brought her face down and kissed her.

Her hands went instantly to his shoulders, grasping and then sliding up his neck and into his hair, which she raked with her fingernails. She also resumed the slow grind against his cock.

She opened her mouth for his tongue and he licked against her, pulling her even closer. She lost herself in the kiss and the sensations sparking all over her body, coming to only when she realised he had slid his hand back around and was rolling and pinching her nipple between his fingers: those long supple fingers that had untangled the plant roots so well. _How would they feel on her clit?_ Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath at the thought, breaking their kiss. Neville trailed his mouth down her jaw.

"I've thought about kissing you… a thousand times," he gasped. "But never _quite_ like this."

"Never with me riding your cock?" Hermione gave a short laugh and she felt him smile against her neck.

"That may have come slightly later in my fantasies."

"God, I want you inside of me,' Hermione gasped, suddenly desperate.

His lips went back to hers and he started pushing down on her pyjama bottoms and knickers as she shifted around to help him get them off, then leaned down to push at his bottoms too.

"Normally I would— _God_ —" He broke off as she shifted against him again, sliding her wetness against his entire rigid length. "I would. Make you come at least once. With my hands or my mouth, before I let you fuck me." His breath was coming fast as she shifted up and positioned his tip at her entrance and teased it against her lower lips. "But, oh God, I can't help it. I want you so badly. Have wanted you. I was _dreaming_ about you."

"What was I doing?" Hermione whispered as she continued to tease him against her entrance and her clit. She gasped as he thrust up and hit a perfect angle.

He groaned again. "We were in that cave and you were. You were…"

"Was I sucking you off?" She breathed it hotly into his ear, knowing that that's what it was because some part of her had thought about it too, turning around in that small space, pushing him against the stone, dropping to her knees. And that perfect fucking cock. The images running through her head were like gasoline on a fire, and she found she couldn't wait any longer to have him.

" _Yes_ ," he was saying, just as she shifted up and slid her cunt down over him, slowly, but relentlessly, on one long stroke.

She moaned loud and low in her throat at the sensation of him, the exquisite fullness. He was bigger than anyone she'd been with, she could tell that right away, but she was so wet that he slid in easily, perfectly, until she bottomed out.

" _Fuck_!" His eyes blew wide and went to hers. She moved up again slowly and then back down. He moaned and leaned back against the headboard, his hands on her hips. She arched her back and picked up her pace, tilting her head back at the pleasure of it. He watched her, his eyes hooded and his breath coming faster.

"You feel so fucking good," she hissed, angling herself so his base rubbed against her clit. She started gasping on every stroke, sensation rolling over her whole body. He watched her for a bit, thrusting up to meet her strokes, his eyes slitted and his lips parted.

" _Yes_ , ride my cock," he breathed and the part of Hermione that wasn't totally lost to sensation was a little shocked and thrilled to hear such words come out of his mouth. _Hot, hot, hot_. And then suddenly he sat up again, wrapping his powerful arms around her, and pulled her against him for a searing kiss, even as he thrust deeper and faster into her.

"Neville," she groaned against his lips. "I'm getting close, oh God." The last words came out as a kind of sob.

"Normally," he said between heavy breaths, "I wouldn't let you come yet."

Hermione's eyes opened wider and she felt new wetness gush again from deep within. _Oh my god_.

"But," he said. "I want to feel you come." He broke off on a moan. "More. Than I've. Ever wanted anything. So." On those words she felt one hand go up behind her neck and the other slide down to where they were joined. The next moment she lost all coherency because he had slid his fingers against her clit, stroking with perfect speed and pressure, his fingers just as deft and supple as she'd imagined. She screamed a gasp and immediately felt her body unlock to some level of pleasure she'd only ever dreamed about. She sped up her motion on his cock, practically bouncing, hearing the slick sounds of her wetness easing every stroke.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh GOD!" Hermione couldn't help her volume and some distant part of her brain thanked whoever people prayed to that the walls at Hogwarts were stone and three feet thick.

"Fuck, _me_ ," Neville said through gritted teeth, sounding like he was very close too. He angled forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking hard. Hermione shrieked and something started to crack inside of her. The sensation of him filling her and dragging against her inner walls, the perfect pressure of his fingers on her clit, the sharp almost-pain of his lips pulling on her nipple; everything threw her together and broke her apart all at once. She screamed his name as she climbed and climbed and climbed and then shattered. And as she began to tail off, he moved up and flipped her onto her back, barely breaking contact, but pulling out and thrusting into her deeply, burying his face in her neck and hair. She tipped her pelvis up and wrapped her legs around his back, raking her fingers across his arse, pulling him as close as she could. He was pounding into her, moaning her name and Hermione felt herself build again, so she reached down and touched herself, riding another crest as he tensed and with a final thrust, yelled as he spilled into her.

For a while they just lay there, tangled, breathing, her arms clutched around him and his face still buried in her hair. She started to stroke him gently, running her fingers over his bare back and eventually up to his neck. He stirred and made a sound of contentment then shifted up and slipped out of her, rolling over and pulling her with him. Hermione draped herself over his chest and laid her cheek to his heart. She could hear it beating, and for some reason that made her feel closer to him than anything they'd just done.

She chanced a look up at him and saw that he was watching her, his eyes warm, but a little wary. A puff of a laugh slipped from her throat and she looked down, touching her forehead to his chest.

"What?" His voice was languid, but she could hear a hint of uncertainty too.

"I just. I'm very happy. And also a little surprised." She looked up again quickly.

He held her glance for a beat and then hauled her up, at the same time leaning down, and kissed her. Hermione let herself fall into the kiss. She put her hands on his face, slipped her fingers into his hair, tried to show him with something other than words how she felt.

Finally he pulled away, his expression tender. "I'm happy too," he said quietly.

"Are you?" She asked. "What you said before, about... since sixth year? Is that true?"

"Yes," he said, shaking his head, that devastating smile emerging. "Couldn't you tell? I thought for sure you knew. Especially a few times lately."

"I think I'm not as emotionally, erm, attuned as you," she said pressing her face into his chest again. She started feathering little kisses across it.

"Mmm." She could hear the smile in his voice. "That's very nice." His hands went to her hair and ran through it.

"So does that mean," she mumbled into his skin, "that you'd want to do this again?"

"I could do it again in about ten minutes if you keep that up. But if you mean do it regularly, then yes. I'd basically do anything with you." He looked down and sought her eyes. "Hermione."

"Yes?"

"I've been yours in one way or another since you helped me find Trevor the toad that first day on the Express."

"Oh Neville. I never knew." She reached up and kissed him again, meaning it to be a sweet peck, but instead letting it turn into something slow and heated.

"Didn't you?" he murmured against her lips after a few minutes.

"Didn't I what?" She'd quite forgotten what they were talking about.

"Know that I was head over heels for you." He moved over her and pinned her to the bed, his dark hair falling over his forehead and his eyes glinting.

"Show me," she said, with a slight grin.

He looked back at her for several beats then, "Oh you've asked for it," he growled, kissing down her stomach in a purposeful way. "I'll expect you to come at least _twice more_ before breakfast now."

"I think that can be arranged…" she murmured, raking her hands into his hair then gasping as his lips touched a very sensitive spot on her inner thigh. "And I am, too."

"Am what?"

"Oh _god_ , yes. Right there." _Fuck_ , his hands. Ooh, and now his mouth.

"Am what?" his dark gaze popped up and pinned her in place.

She stopped writhing for a second to look at him owlishly. "What? Oh. I am head over heels. For you. Too."

"That's what I thought you said." He smiled and disappeared again.

🌱

"Do you know?" Hermione said from where she was perched on Neville's kitchen counter, "that you're my oldest friend?" She popped a raspberry into her mouth and chewed.

Neville turned from where he was frying rashers of bacon in an old cast iron pan, looking adorably rumpled and shagged. " _Am_ I?"

"Yes. You were speaking of that first day. When I helped you find your toad. I realised I met you precisely fifteen minutes _before_ I met Ron and Harry."

"Well fancy that," he said, walking over and stepping between her legs. She hadn't bothered with her pajama bottoms, so he slid his palms up her bare thighs. She fed him a raspberry, then kissed him.

"I think you might be my _best_ friend now too," she mused, pulling away and reaching up to cup his cheek with her hand.

"I'll take it," he murmured, capturing her lips again, "as long as your best friend gets to do this."

Hermione gave a little groan as his hands swept up under her shirt to cup her breasts. It seemed she was insatiable for him. It had been less than thirty minutes and she wanted him again, more than anything, more than she wanted _breakfast_. Her hands went to his waistband and she pushed at his trousers. He reached over and flicked off the burner, hauling her forward on the counter. They still had over an hour before they had to be in their classrooms.

"And best friends can do this too?" he said, reaching down and pulling her knickers off.

"Only the very best," she sighed. He laughed softly and hitched her forward.

_**Later that afternoon** _

"And _that_ is Wenlock's principle of numerary-magical probability," Hermione said with a nod. "I'll expect at least five pages by Friday on why it's important." Her students groaned. "WITH at least three practical examples of its use!" She punctuated her demand with a finger in the air. Most of the class groaned again and shuffled up out of their seats, whinging and scowling. _Honestly_ _these children_.

"Go on, go," she called. "Don't be late to your next class."

"It's double potions with Malfoy," said one particularly cheeky boy over his shoulder. "I'm hoping to be as late as possible."

Hermione bit back a smile and shooed them all away. As they dispersed she noticed a little flurry near the door.

"Hey, Professor Longbottom!" High fives and nods. Another greeting and a playful exchange of shoves. Finally they all left to reveal a tall figure lounging against the back wall of her classroom, handsome and smiling at her, eyes warm under lowered lids.

Hermione bit her lip, color flaming in her cheeks. "Hello, Professor Longbottom."

"Professor Granger." He pushed off the wall and walked slowly to the front of the classroom, flicking her door shut with his wand.

"What are you doing so far from the greenhouses today?"

He reached her in two long strides and pulled her into his arms, no awkwardness, no pretense. Hermione relaxed into his embrace and looked up at him, real happiness singing through her.

"I wanted to see if you'd have dinner with me."

"That sounds lovely. When?"

"Tonight," he said, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on her lips. "And tomorrow." He kissed her again. "And all the days after that, give or take. If you're interested." He pulled back, half-smiling but with a real question in his eyes.

She reached up and cupped his jaw, pulling back and looking deep into his eyes. "I am," she said. "I very much am."

_**Epilogue** _

_**Friday, April 29, 2008** _

"They are _so_ cute together," a blonde girl in a black and yellow tie sighed and leaned against the wall of one of the Hogwarts greenhouses.

"Adorable," agreed her friend, adjusting her blue-accented robes over her wrists and squinting at a couple in the distance.

"Total relationship goals," said a third girl, tall and with a red and gold Alice band in her shoulder-length sandy hair.

"Hot as fuck, too," said a fourth, her green tie clashing artfully with her hot pink pixie cut.

" _Iris_!" the other three chorused, looking askance at her.

"What?" she said. "It's true. Both of them." She raised her brows and the other girls giggled.

"She's pretty," said the blonde girl. "But _he's_ the hot one." Her blue eyes focused on the tall, male figure as it broke from the slighter female figure and started walking toward them. "I mean, _look_ at him."

"Speak for yourself," said Iris, her eyes following the determined stride of the woman as she moved swiftly back toward the castle.

"Well either way," said the girl in blue. "I love them together." She turned excitedly to her friends, eyes sparkling. "Did you guys notice, last week when she was so grumpy in class? And then that first year 'puff poked his head in the door with a note—"

"Danny Hodge," the yellow tie girl said.

"Right. So he hands her the note. And she reads it and her face goes all pink. And then she was like, so sweet after that. I just know it was from him. He's always doing things like that for her."

They all sighed.

"Like when he waits for her after class."

"Or when she pops up at the greenhouses."

"How they always sit together at meals."

They all sighed again and their eyes went to the tall man as he drew near.

"Hi, Professor!" The blonde girl waved vigorously.

"Hello, girls!" His handsome face broke into a kind smile. "Hope you're ready for some fun today! Venomous Tentacula!" He wiggled his fingers. "And don't forget I'm away through Wednesday, so no class meeting again until Thursday."

They all chorused their 'yeses' and 'ok, professors' and watched him until he disappeared into the greenhouse.

"But really," said the tall one, "the best part of them is that they support each other. He's not threatened by her brilliance."

"He's brilliant too!" piped the blonde.

"Yes but, she's in a league of her own."

Everyone nodded sagely.

"And!" the tall one said, "you know he doesn't go in for all that traditional gender role nonsense."

"Nope," the blonde said. "He totally writes thank-you notes. I've seen him at it in the library."

"I bet he does dishes!" said up the blue-robed girl.

"And makes sure she comes first," said Iris.

" _IRIS!_ " They all fell about laughing.

"ANYway," said the tall girl, shooting a glance at Iris that made the other girl blush. "They are absolutely goals."

"Does anyone know where they're off to this weekend?" said the blue-robed girl, looking wistful. "What fun to go on a mini-break with your amazing partner…"

"I think I overheard something about the Isle of Skye," said the tall one. "They're lucky to miss that depressing commemoration ceremony."

"Yeah, why the fuck do they keep putting that on?" said Iris. "It's fucking awful."

"Dunno. At least we don't have to attend," said the blonde girl.

Suddenly the Professor's head appeared in the doorway. "Pip-pip, girls," he said. "Time for class!"

"Yes, Professor!" The girls jumped up in a scramble of books, quills and exclamations and hurried in through the door.

_**🌱FIN🌱** _

**Author's Note:**

> The title and quotes from the chapter headings are OF COURSE from songs, since granger_danger loves music as much as I do and it's what we very first connected over. The title and first quote are from "The Dreamer" by The Tallest Man on Earth and the second is from "Simple Song" by The Shins. Oh, and as you'll notice if you look closely at PacificRimbaud's illustration, the record playing the night Hermione goes to Neville is _In the Aeroplane Over the Sea_.


End file.
